‘Thank God you are so true! But how shall I look you in the face after what has happened? You must despise me so much—yes, yes, you must!’
She would have answered him with fresh words of sweet assurance, but he continued passionately:
‘Think of the world, Alma! Think of your own future, your own happiness! Your life would be blighted, your love wasted, if you continued to care for me. Better to forget me! better to say farewell!’
‘Do you say that, Ambrose?’ she replied; ‘you who first taught me that love once born is imperishable, and that those He has once united—not through the body merely, but through a sacrament of souls—can never be sundered? Nay, you have still your work to do in the world, and I—shall I not help you still? You will not go away?’
‘I have written my resignation to the Bishop. I shall quit this place and the Church’s ministry for ever.’
‘Do not decide in haste,’ she said. ‘Is this the letter?’
And as she spoke she went to the desk and took the letter in her hand.
‘Yes.’
‘Let me burn the letter.’
‘Alma!’